


love is like being fucked with a knife

by Fuckboy Phoebus (The_Resurrection_3D)



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Flash Forward, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:32:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19718143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Resurrection_3D/pseuds/Fuckboy%20Phoebus
Summary: "Who loves you more than me?"





	love is like being fucked with a knife

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly edited Ren/Strade braindump I wrote back in March immediately after playing the game for the first time. Originally was just going to be a linear two-shot, but I decided to play with the chronology lightly in order to end on a stronger note. Hopefully it worked. Based off the "Strade stabbed you back" ending. 
> 
> Enjoy!

"Fucker stabbed me in the neck," Strade had growled, slipping in and out of German, his voice bubbling with blood -- you’d watched it spill past his lips in fat beads, thinking of how if it had been you, he would have licked it right up.

"Please, Strade," you whispered, pressing the drenched cloth to his neck. "You have to be still. Y-you're ..." The words tried to make a noose of your tongue. "You're gonna bleed out!"

"Get the med kit -- " he coughed, a hoarse yet wet rattle deep in his chest, crimson spittle shooting from his mouth. "Get the probe, heat it up, cauterize the veins." It was hard to see the veins with all the blood and tears and snot in the way, so you did what you could; you know where his jugular is because that's where he likes to lick you.

That's where he likes to bite you.

Eventually you managed to cauterize and stitch the wound up, wiping away the carnage to a familiar red-brown smear. "And alcohol to disinfect it, right?" you asked, voice shaking and thin, and he nodded -- slowly, too slowly. His eyes were glassy and his face pale and and --

He’d grabbed your hand and squeezed it so hard you were amazed your bones didn't break.

"My fox..." He looked at you without seeing you, as he so often does. " _ Mein Schatz Fuchs..." _

_ Your ears prick up as he rubs circles into your shoulder blades. His voice is low and grave; he hasn't brought home any friends since the incident. _

_ You've been trying to mentally ready yourself for weeks. _

_ "I need to do a show soon; the bills are coming up," he continues, and you nod in understanding. One hand travels from your shoulder to your neck, applying only a bit of pressure-- enough for him to feel your racing pulse under your skin. "I need you on standby, in case something goes wrong again." You nod again, swallow thickly -- both from the bile threatening to rise up your throat, and because you know that a display of fear is what he wants. "Afterwards, I'll get us some ice cream. Would you like that?" _

"I'-- I'm gonna get the alcohol now!" You yelped as his grip only tightened, trying to pull yourself away before he really did break your hand. "I'm gonna disinfect it and then you're gonna be fine!" You finally squirmed away and snatched up the alcohol off the tool counter, squirting a little bit onto his wound. Strade ground his teeth, growling harshly, sorry, sorry sorry Strade, I'm trying to be careful.

More slurring in German, but you know the words well. He cocked his head as you dabbed at his neck, giving you that strange smile that always makes the bottom fall out of your stomach. He'd tried to kiss you then, but you'd pulled back, propping him up by the shoulder so he doesn't tumble forward.

"Strade, we can't! You're too weak!"

"Darling," he growled again in German. "You came for me..." Reached between your legs, causing you to squeak as he squeezed with more force than should ever be in such a weakened body. "Want to reward you. Taste you."

"Strade, we can't --"

"Can." His breath was coming in ragged now. "Help me get to the bed."

So you did. You laid him down on the small cot he kept you on for the first few months of your imprisonment, god knows how long ago, before he’d randomly allowed you to wander upstairs. You rested his head comfortable on the pillow, trying to move his neck as little as possible. Without him saying anything further, you stripped off your shorts; you don't have any underwear. He smiled wolfishly, lips still heavy with blood -- his blood, for once, smudged so much by his attempt to wipe it all off on his sleeve that his mouth had become another jagged wound. You wanted to lick it up for him; you wanted to open his throat and drink until you threw up.

You noticed then the bulge in his pants. 

_ He thrums, and you feel his smile against your throat. "Who loves you more than me?" he asks. _

_ "No one," the automatic answer. You are as sure of it as you are that there are still stars in the sky, though you have not gotten see them in such a long time. _

_ "And who do you love more than anyone else in the world?" _

_ The weight of said world sits on your chest, a loving, angelic pain. "You, Strade." _

A few feet away, the eyeball watched from the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All feedback is appreciated <3


End file.
